


i loved him then (i love him still)

by alternatereality42



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fade to Black, Fake Character Death, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I wrote this instead of doing my homework, M/M, Panic Attack, for Future Me to deal with!, kind of, which is actually kind of an issue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatereality42/pseuds/alternatereality42
Summary: After the mountain, Jaskier fakes his own death. He doesn't tell Geralt. Why would he?(Geralt finds out on his own.)
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 441





	i loved him then (i love him still)

**Author's Note:**

> There is a dearth of "Geralt thinks Jaskier's dead" fics. I mean to remedy that.  
> (Brief CW for a description of a panic attack had by the POV character. This is referenced throughout the rest of the fic.)  
> Title from "Elsa's Song" by The Amazing Devil.

Geralt doesn't see Jaskier again, after the mountain. In fact, aside from the occasional new song performed in a tavern he's in, he encounters no evidence at all of Jaskier's continued existence. This is fine. He doesn't care. It most likely would have continued to be fine, or at least repressable, if not for a rather unfortunate interaction.

Geralt's sitting in a tavern, Ciri by his side. A bard is playing. It's not Jaskier. He doesn't care. Barely even notices, in fact. The bard wraps up his current song, waits for the applause to die down, then pauses. 

"Before my last song," he says, and the crowd boos, "--I know, I know! But even a bard must eat sometimes!" The crowd quiets. "--Before my next song," the bard repeats, "I want to say something." 

Geralt sighs. Bards are known for long and rambling speeches. He hates them, most of the time. 

"As many of you know," the bard continues, "the great bard, Jaskier, has passed away. My next and last song, therefore, will honor him and his life. I will be performing his last and most recent song, Battle Cries!" 

The bard starts playing. Geralt tunes it out. He's heard this song before. His ears are ringing. His eyes burn. He stares down at his meal. Jaskier is dead. 

He knew this would happen eventually. He didn't expect it to be so soon. 

He feels something touch his arm. It's Ciri. "Are you alright?" she asks. Wordlessly, he shakes his head. "Do you want to leave?" He shakes his head again. He wants to talk to the bard after his last song, find out what he knows about Jaskier's death. Maybe he's mistaken. Maybe it's not Jaskier who's dead, but someone else. 

The song finishes, and the bard returns to his seat. As he passes Geralt, Geralt grabs his arm. "Tell me what you know about Jaskier," he growls.

The bard freezes. "I know only what I have already said," he stammers. "Jaskier is dead. I know not what killed him. Please don't hurt me," he whispers. 

Geralt lets go of his arm. "I'm sorry," he says. He turns to Ciri. "Let's go, if you're finished." She nods and stands up, pushing her chair in, and they go upstairs to their room. Geralt goes to bed early, but lays awake long into the night, staring at the ceiling. 

So. Jaskier's dead. It's fine. He's  _ fine _ . Jaskier died thinking Geralt hates him, Geralt never got to tell him his true feelings, and Geralt is completely fine with that.

Okay, so he maybe isn't completely fine with it. But there's nothing he can do about it, so he might as well get over it. 

He's not quite sure when he falls asleep. 

The next day, Geralt moves on. He takes another contract in the next town over. It takes a few days. He takes another, then another. Life moves on. He doesn't think about Jaskier. He doesn't miss him. He was never in love with him. He doesn't care. He  _ doesn't _ . 

Maybe if he keeps saying it, it'll come true.

\---

A few weeks after that fateful meal, Geralt's up late, looking for food. Ciri's by the fire with Roach. Geralt never strays out of earshot, but that's a wide range for a Witcher. He's caught a few rabbits, and he's about to turn back when he hears a rustle in the bushes. Slowly, he puts down the rabbits and draws his silver sword, turning towards the source of the sound. 

Jaskier steps into view. "Geralt?" he asks in disbelief. 

Quick as a flash, Geralt pins the creature against a tree, silver sword at its throat. This can't be Jaskier, Jaskier's dead. "Who are you?" he growls. "How do you know this face?"

"Geralt," the creature gasps, "it's me." Slowly, it reaches up and touches the flat of the sword.

Nothing happens. Its hand doesn't burn.  _ Jaskier's _ hand doesn't burn. Geralt lowers his sword, sheaths it, then envelops Jaskier in a hug so tight it nearly lifts him off the ground. 

"What's happening, exactly?" Jaskier asks.

"You were dead," Geralt says. 

"Ah. Sorry about that. My bad, truly."

"You're not dead," Geralt says.

"That's pretty well-established by now, yes." Jaskier sounds perturbed. 

Geralt lets go of him, holding him by the shoulders and looking him up and down, searching for injuries. "Why do people think you're dead?"

"It's an extremely long story," Jaskier says, "that I would be delighted to tell you just as soon as I sit down with some food in me. I've traveled quite a long way, you know."

They walk to the campsite. Ciri seems delighted to see Jaskier, who apparently played for her birthday in court on occasion, and he seems just as happy to see her. They catch up while Geralt roasts the rabbits. He feels strange; relieved, but also scared. He does not want Jaskier to die.

Jaskier explains over dinner. "Nilfgaard was looking for me," he explains in between bites of rabbit. "They were hoping that I would know where you were. I didn't, of course, but I was much easier to find. I thought that if I faked my death, they'd stop looking. It worked, naturally. I just need to hide from civilization for a bit until people forget my face, and then I can start over."

"You can stay with us," Geralt says. 

Jaskier looks taken aback for a second, before he smiles. "That would be lovely."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Geralt asks.

"Quite frankly," Jaskier says, bewildered, "I didn't think you'd care."

\---

Geralt doesn't let Jaskier out of his sight for a week. It's not that he's being paranoid, he reasons, it's just that--Geralt can't let Jaskier die. He  _ can't _ . Jaskier goes about his business, scribbling in his song-writing notebook or playing his lute, or, on rare occasions, foraging for some sort of edible plant matter. Wherever Jaskier decides to go, Geralt is always within 50 feet. He wakes up several times a night from nightmares, and uses those times to make sure Jaskier's still there, safe and sound and sleeping and alive. Once, Geralt loses Jaskier in a small patch of trees. His lungs don't quite work right until Jaskier comes back into view. 

It all comes to a head one afternoon. Geralt's talking with Ciri, absentmindedly brushing Roach as he does, when he hears a muffled curse coming from the woods. He looks around, but can't see Jaskier anywhere. His breaths start coming faster. "Stay here," he tells Ciri, "I'll be right back." He puts the brush down and runs into the woods towards the sound. Once he gets closer, he uses his sense of smell to track Jaskier. He takes a deep inhale through his nose. Maple, cedar, wildflowers, something uniquely Jaskier, and--Jaskier's blood. Fuck. 

Geralt crashes through the trees, heedless of the noise he's making. His mind supplies him with infinite tragedies: Jaskier killed by bandits, Jaskier captured by Nilfgaard and tortured, Jaskier slain by a monster, Jaskier bleeding out in his arms, so many he loses track and might repeat a few. The faint scent of Jaskier's blood gets stronger and stronger as he gets closer, bursting into a clearing, sword raised--

Jaskier's sitting on the grass, examining his knee. He looks up as Geralt enters, eyes widening in surprise and confusion. "Is everything alright?" he asks.

Geralt stands at the entrance to the clearing, sword still raised. "Where is it?" he yells. "You're bleeding, what hurt you, what--"

Jaskier nods in understanding. "Geralt," he says, standing up slowly, "Geralt, I'm alright. I scraped my knee, is all. I'm okay."

Geralt stares, not understanding, and then--He sheathes his sword. Jaskier's okay. He's not dying, there's no monster. But there could have been. "You idiot," he growls. "You didn't tell me where you were going. Anything could have happened to you. There could have been bandits, or--"

"Geralt," Jaskier says patiently, "you're overreacting. I'm fine."

"You might not have been!" Geralt yells. "I smelled your blood!"

"You. Are. Overreacting!" Jaskier yells back. "I'm not an idiot! I'm not a child! I can take care of myself! Honestly, Geralt, you've barely let me out of your sight for a week! I thought you  _ wanted _ me taken off your hands! I--Geralt," and his voice is much quieter now, "Geralt, are you alright?"

Geralt's hands are shaking. His knees give out, and he collapses to the grass. His breaths come quick and shaky. His heart is pounding, going much faster than a Witcher's heart ought to. Belatedly, he realizes he's crying. 

"Deep breaths, Geralt," Jaskier says, and when did he get closer? Cautiously, Jaskier's arms snake around Geralt, and Geralt clings to him, sobbing into his shoulder. 

"You were  _ dead _ ," Geralt gasps, "you were  _ dead _ and the last thing I said to you was that I didn't  _ care _ and--"

"Shh," Jaskier whispers, rubbing Geralt's back. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere, see? I'm right here." 

They stay like that for a while, Geralt clinging to Jaskier as though he might disappear. Eventually, all of the energy drains out of Geralt, and he just feels tired. "I'm sorry," he says, letting go of Jaskier. 

"It's okay," Jaskier says. "I didn't realize how much you cared, quite frankly."

"You should have," Geralt says. "I should have told you. I still haven't."

"You just had a panic attack because I scraped my knee," Jaskier says. "I think you've shown me well enough."

"A panic attack?" Geralt shakes his head. "No. I'm a Witcher, we don't--"

"If you say Witchers don't experience emotions, I'll fake my death again," Jaskier says. He moves to get up, but Geralt clings to him again. 

"Don't you  _ dare _ ," he growls. 

"Don't worry, Geralt," Jaskier says. "I won't. In fact," he brightens, "now that I'm traveling with you, there's no real reason for me to be dead at all, is there?"

"Hmm."

"It's not like people can't put a name to a face, and if they see me with you, then there's no point in having the name be dead, is there? They'll still associate me with you."

"Hmm." Geralt pauses. "I'll protect you. From Nilfgaard."

Jaskier blushes. "I'd assumed," he says, "but it's nice to hear you say it out loud."

"Hmm."

They go back to camp. Ciri's waiting for them anxiously. "What happened?" she asks.

"Fuck." Geralt says. "I forgot I left you here."

"I scraped my knee," Jaskier says, "and Geralt freaked out a little bit. It's okay now."

"Good," Ciri says. "You took almost an hour. I was worried something happened to you."

"We're both fine," Geralt says. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"It's alright," Ciri says. "I finished brushing Roach for you."

"Thank you," Geralt says. 

\---

The next day, Jaskier pulls Geralt aside, away from their campsite. "We need to talk," he says. 

"We talked yesterday," Geralt says. 

" _ Talk _ talk," Jaskier says. "Not just you-crying-into-my-shoulder-for-half-an-hour talk."

"What do you want to talk about?" Geralt asks.

"I want to clear the air," Jaskier says. "We still haven't talked about what happened on the mountain, not really. And--" he breaks off, searches for the right words. "I'm not sure where we stand, quite frankly." Geralt looks at him blankly. Jaskier throws his arms up, then continues. "I mean, first you're telling me I'm the worst thing that ever happened to you, then you're having a panic attack because I scraped my knee. Those two things are extremely incongruous, and I'd like to get it straightened out." 

"You're not." Geralt says. 

"What?"

"The worst thing that happened to me. You're one of the best."

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier says. "You flatter me. See, this is why communication is important. I might have gone the rest of my life thinking you hated me, and then where would we be?"

The thought of Jaskier thinking Geralt hates him makes Geralt anxious for reasons he doesn't want to think about. "I don't hate you," he says. "I could never hate you."

"Good," Jaskier says. "I don't hate you either. As a matter of fact…" Jaskier trails off. "If I don't say it now, I'm never going to," he mutters. He takes a deep breath. "Geralt," he says, "I may be, quite possibly, a little bit in love with you."

Geralt stares at him. His brain goes blank. He opens his mouth to say something, and manages to produce a strangled "Hmm."

Jaskier's face falls. "That's quite alright. I didn't really expect you to reciprocate." He moves to leave, but Geralt grabs his wrist.

"No. I. You. Also. Yes," Geralt stammers.

Jaskier looks at Geralt, hope in his eyes. "Could you repeat that?" he asks.

"I. Fuck." Geralt pauses. "I am also in love with you," he finally says.

"Oh. Good," Jaskier says faintly. "May I kiss you?"

Geralt nods. Jaskier's hand cups his cheek. Eyes closed, their mouths meet. It's a very nice kiss. Jaskier's lips are soft. The kiss moves deeper, mouths opening, when--

A twig snaps behind them. Geralt's head shoots up, looking towards the source of the sound. He sees a flash of a blue cloak and a white-blond braid running back towards camp, and sighs. Ciri. 

Geralt turns back towards Jaskier, who presses a soft kiss to his lips, before grabbing his hand. "We should be getting back ourselves," Jaskier says, smiling. 

"We should," Geralt says reluctantly. A thought occurs to him, and he smiles. "But not just yet. Ciri can take care of herself."

"Well, of course! She's quite a capable teenager, after all." Jaskier smiles. It's a smile that, Geralt realizes, he's pretty sure he would kill for. But right now, all he wants to do is kiss it.


End file.
